


Bickering

by orphan_account



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three arguments never shown on the telly. Rather less angsty than I make it sound, promise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bickering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dracothelizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/gifts).



> Warning for (non-graphic) reference to the Vampire crash.

**i.**

“He’s perfect,” said Richard, throwing down a pen.

“If by perfect you mean an utter mentalist, yes, by all means, he is perfect.” Jeremy flopped back onto the couch, sighing dramatically.

“Jez, come on.” Richard sat by Jeremy, bumped their shoulders. “What was the problem with Jason?”

“He freaked out when he saw us kissing and quit immediately, taking a vow of silence only because we made him promise on pain of more kissing?”

“Well, yes, but apart from that, he was boring.”

“He was,” granted Jeremy graciously. “He was boring and narrow.”

“And this bloke is, as you say mental. So are you. Opposite sides of the same coin! Imagine the arguments! It’ll be ridiculous.” Richard’s hands flew around in front of his face, sketching the overwhelming ridiculousness in the air.

“Ridiculous _is_ good television. But what if he ends up like Jason?”

“What, fat? You’re not the slimmest yourself, Jez.” His hands dropped, one conveniently onto Jeremy’s knee.

“Case in point, you little tart, what if we scare this one off too? Neither of us are winning awards for subtlety.”

“No, no, no. Bet you a tenner he wouldn’t mind. In fact, bet you fifteen quid he’d be into it. Did you see his shirt? And that hair?”

“They can see his shirt from space, Hammond, and his hair is a traffic hazard. What are you doing? Hammond, are you trying to win the argument with sex?” Richard’s hand been creeping higher and higher as they talked.

He looked up at Jeremy with the big eyes he knew exactly how to use.

“James May is perfect, Jeremy.” He squeezed. “Trust me.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. It was halfway between sexual harassment and blackmail.

“Alright, then. James May. We’ll finally have someone with normal human proportions.” Richard grinned, then scowled.

“There’s nothing wrong with my proportions!”

As he set about proving it, Jeremy smiled. He had decided to hire James halfway through the man’s windbagish yet passionate defence of the Bentley. It may or may not have anything to do with his pretty blue eyes. It was just fun to argue with Richard. It was fun to let him think he’d won.

 **  
ii.  
**  
“I hate hospitals,” James muttered in the general direction of his hands.

“Thank you, May, for that brilliant and pertinent bit of insight.”

“They’re not sending a camera crew, are they?”

“I’m not that much of a bastard, James. The BBC doesn’t own my entire soul. I just think it would be a good idea. I think we need to be there, because our mate might just be possibly dying and I fucking hate hospitals too, but not nearly as much as I fucking hate fucking traffic!” He pounded the horn twice, long and loud and pointless, and the surrounding cars, who were all _bastards_ , did not move at all.

James didn’t react, hair hanging around his eyes as he looked down at his hands, picking at the dirt under his nails.

“This is my fault.”

“Oh no. No, no, no and more no. Don’t do that.”

“I was meant to be in that car!” James yelled.

“And so was I!” Jeremy yelled louder. “Hammond probably would have found an excuse to get in there somehow, and neither of us would have driven it so bloody dangerously and you aren’t going to play that blame game because this isn’t about you. We’re going to get in there and eat his grapes and make sure he wakes up.”

They were both silent for a block and a half, and the hospital loomed. James trapped his hands between his legs and stared out the window, watching the road signs and traffic diversions. EMERGENCY said one. VISITORS said another. That wasn’t fair.

“What if he doesn’t?”

Jeremy drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“Well, the ratings are so good they probably won’t let us out. It’ll just be you, me, powerslides and laptimes and cocking about, saying anyway, the new Jag. We won’t have to deal with Porches anymore. Sounds almost pleasant really.”

“That’s not what I meant, you tit.”

“I know.” Jeremy swung toward the parking structure, eyes front, hands tight. Silence fell.

They were walking toward the lift when James said, “They’ll force some new guy on.”

“What?”

“They’ll give us a new guy, some young git who knows fuck all and wears tight pants.”

“Someone with even more ridiculous hair. That’s exactly what they’ll do.”

“Someone who used to be in a boyband.”

Jeremy shuddered theatrically. “Luckily, that’s not going to happen, because he is going to be fine.”

James was in the corner of the wide lift, pressing against the scuffed walls. “How do you know? Because you’re always right? Because you’re not. Because Leeds General is such a brilliant hospital?” He thumped the aluminium lift wall, pushing forward.

“Because it’s not. Or because he doesn’t deserve to die, because let me tell you people die all the time, the nice ones and the dickheads and the people you don’t know and the people you love and everyone, everyone dies, Clarkson, all the time, and it might happen RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

The lift dinged.

Jeremy took a step back. Captain Slow, with tears in his eyes and his face all red and his stupid hair flying, was actually rather intimidating. In a sort of Celtic way. Not that he was going to tell anyone.

“It won’t,” he said, sort of sidling out of the lift. James trailed after him, out of steam, rubbing his face, spreading the tears around. “And would you like me to tell you why?”

“Go on then,” James huffed. He was eyeing the room Richard was in, a crowd of flowers well-intentioned idiots had sent blocking up the hall. Jeremy put a hand on his neck, and James didn’t shrug it off. He took that as a good sign, stepped closer, pressed his lips to James’ forehead. Jeremy wasn’t chaste often, but not because he didn’t know how to be.

“Because,” he said against James’ skin, “he was trying to do another in camera bit while they were putting him in the ambulance. This is the Hamster. You know he likes to fight. He’s going to fight this.”

“Right.” James pushed the hair out of his face. Set his shoulders. “Right.”

“Right.” Jeremy slung an arm around James’ shoulders and started herding him toward the hospital room. “Also, we need to tell him he’s a crap driver. And that you were crying. Come on, quick, before someone else steals the grapes!”

James didn’t laugh too loudly. That would be bad taste in a hospital.

 

 **iii.**

“Bolivia might have been our worst idea yet, in a long history of terrible and stupid ideas.”

“What about the North sodding Pole? You nearly died, Hamster. Or Vietnam. Vietnam was worst.”

“You’re only saying that because you look like a cock on a bike. America was worst. We all nearly died.”

“Only because you decided to out us in the Deep South, in a car that never started.”

“That wasn’t entirely my fault. I do apologise for overestimating the level of civilisation of the modern redneck, but I didn’t actually expect that particular reaction. It’s not my fault they’re barbarians.”

“And it’s no one’s fault that the jungle wants to kill us, that doesn’t make it any less of a terrible and stupid idea to drive around in it.”

“Don’t worry, Richard. Captain Machete here will protect you from all the big scary bugs.”

“I will hurt you. I will hurt you with a big stick, and a shovel, and, and knives, lots of knives. Oh god. There will be, oh god, there will be torture.” But Jeremy was already between Richard’s legs, and he gave up talking.

James rolled over, to get a better view. He put a hand on Richard’s face, kissed him gently as his breath hitched and Jeremy laughed, darkly, before resuming. Richard reached out with the hand not tangled in sheets, James caught it, guided it. He put his other hand on the back of Jeremy’s head and that was it. The circuit was complete.

In an air-conditioned hotel room in Chile, Bolivia was clearly not the worst idea ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! This is not something I've ever written before, but it was fun!


End file.
